Chapter Text
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“I don’t think it’s a bad one.”
There were times when getting out of bed was hard. When the sheets provided comfort most couldn’t. Yuuri found himself wishing he could stay forever, swaddled in warmth and feet off the ground. He didn’t like walking all that much. It exhausted him.
No one told him it was depression, no one said, this isn’t normal. They expected it. They brought food to him and didn’t push. He was never dragged from his bed, or even given a suggestion; it’s a nice day out, Yuuri. Go enjoy it, while you can.
“It’s not uncommon for this to happen,” his psychiatrist said. She was trying to brush off their worry, the dark circles under all their eyes. “He’s very unwell, feeling this way is perfectly understandable.”
That’s when the pills started coming in. The ones he wasn’t already taking daily, by the handful. They were blue capsules that always found themselves down the drain. That only lasted a week. He’d be watched, his mother would sit on his bed and watch him down the drug with a glass of water in hand. It would be taken and spilled—just a bit right over the rim.
Yuuri hated the medication. All of it.
But he took it. He took it because if he didn’t they would worry themselves sick. They’d become more frantic, things would be said, and no one ever meant them. So, he clenched his eyes and swallowed. For them. They’d get along more; they wouldn’t roam the halls like ghosts. Emptied shells of once lively, dotting parents.
Seeing that was much worse than taking another pill.
The neighbors knew. They’ve known for a long time, the people at the resort knew. Everyone who ever stepped foot in this place knew about the boy who hardly showed his face. They’d strain their necks when he rolled outside, fingers thin, but firm on the wheels as he pushed himself around. Yuuri didn’t like being watched, he didn’t like the way gazes fell heavy on the tube in his nose. But he enjoyed the bathhouse.
Warm water that soothed his aching joints and held him upright. It was a hazard, but who cared? A lot of things were a hazard for Yuuri Katsuki. In here he could sit down, look up, and see the sky above. The vast and endless canvas that, most days would be blue. Clouded and vital. It made him feel better. Stronger. There wasn’t a lot of things or people that could do that, besides his parents. Who have been his crutches for a very long time.
Then one day, in bed, he was given a great big push.
“You’re sending me away?” There’s no shouting, just still silence between words.
His mother, who’s always been passionate and strong willed, has wilted. She’s tired. Those big round eyes, that Yuuri earned from her are rimmed in red. They are wet too and she’s the only one not talking. Sitting by his side, as she always does and holding his hand gently as his father breaks the news.
“This place will be good for you,” he fathers says.
Yuuri feels an ache in his gut and it’s not from what's eating away at him.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Yuuri!” His mother final cuts in. He sees that he’s hurt her, and nearly crumbles. “That is not what we are trying to do. You don’t—.“
Those eyes are bleary and sightless from emotion.
“We only want what’s best for you.”
She shakes under the hand of her father. Trying to restrain herself from weeping. Her voice is strained, but there’s an effort made as she clears her throat.
“You are always in bed. You need to be outside, interacting with people, making memories. Not in here.” There’s no room for objection as she plows on. “This decision wasn’t easy to make, we struggled with it, but I really believe it’s for the best you go and at least try it.”
“There’s family there, support. You’d be in good hands and they have wonderful programs and specialists—.”
The plugs pulled in the socket of his mind. Yuuri’s thoughts go blank as he tries to focus on not panicking. Something he just couldn’t afford to do. His mother keeps speaking. Father too. They tell him, it’s fine. This will work. It’s for the best. Same bottom line over and over. He can absorb that much and more. That he has relatives there, in a place he can’t understand how. It’s irrelative, a speck on a country.
Sitting up against the wall, propped up and supported by many pillows as he reaches for what’s been sitting unopened. A thick pamphlet on the foot of his bed. It’s blue, unwelcomed, and full of information.
First being the place, printed boldly on the cover.
It yanks the air out of his lungs and sends his parents scrambling.
Russia